Kill Shot
by Altariel
Summary: More office politics in Minas Tirith with the Steward and the King.


Written for the "5 Ingredients" challenge at Teitho: write a story containing all five of the following:  
\- humorous friendship moment  
\- spilled blood  
\- stars  
\- misplaced book  
\- flying creature

* * *

 **Kill Shot**

 _Minas Tirith, in the Fourth Age_

By the tenth bell after noon, neither man was in a particularly good mood, and neither was particularly interested in the conversation they were having. One of them was trying to find a lost book. The other was stalking a mosquito around the room.

"I'm sorry, Faramir," this one said. "I haven't heard a word you've said for the last five minutes."

The Steward sighed and carried on sifting through his desk. "I said," he said, "that the question is whether the ambassador knew that arranging the stars in that fashion could be construed as an insult."

"I see." The King moved noiselessly towards his quarry. It moved away. "Do we care?"

"Speaking in a personal capacity, no. Speaking in an official capacity, nobody else will so I suppose I must." The Steward lifted a sheaf of notes and dumped them unceremoniously on the floor. This action revealed a small black leather case. "Oh. I was wondering where this was." He opened the case and started rifling through the contents.

"Please don't get distracted," said the King. "I'd like to eat tonight."

"Yes, of course." He threw the case onto the nearest chair. It slid to the floor, taking some papers down with it. "Now. Somewhere in this room there is a book containing my great-great-grandfather's first-hand account of the time he spent travelling beyond Khand."

"But you can't find it."

"No."

"So we remain here."

"We remain here."

The King watched the mosquito land on a small table. There was a vase on the table, a gaudy affair covered in what he thought might be dragons. He lifted his hand to strike, and then had second thoughts. The vase was hideous, and its removal would hardly mar the overall scheme of this midden of a room. But it must surely be a family heirloom. There could be no other justification for its continued existence.

The Steward came to stand in the middle of his office. He folded his arms and glared around. His eye fell on the mosquito, flitting around a high corner near the window. From outside came the sound of happy people enjoying a fair summer night. The muscles in his jaw tightened.

"Do you ever tidy?" asked the King. "I ask without judgement. I am merely curious."

"Why would I do that? I know where everything is."

The King didn't deign to reply to that one. Both men began prowling again. "There's a section in the book," said the Steward, "in which my great-great-grandfather discusses meeting their chieftains and explaining the significance of the seven stars." He frowned. "At least, I think that's in there. The point being, that if he did so, then it's likely that their ambassador knew that hanging the stars upside down was not appropriate."

"If they considered the knowledge worth handing down or, indeed, bothered to listen to your great-great-grandfather in the first place."

"We should certainly take that into account when we make our final judgement."

"So," said the King, "to clarify. We are looking for a book which may or may not contain information which may or may not reveal whether we have been insulted by a minor envoy from a people so distant that we have had next to no dealings with them in several centuries."

"Yes," said the Steward. "At least, I am."

The mosquito came past, coming to rest once again on the table. Both men moved as one swiftly and silently towards it. The King threw caution to the wind. He brought the book that he was carrying down hard. The vase toppled and fell – into the safety of the Steward's hands. The King lifted the book, and looked down at the corpse of their enemy.

"There," he said with deep satisfaction.

The Steward put the vase back in its place. Then he reached across and plucked the book from the King's hand.

"Ah," said the King. "This one?"

"Coated in my own blood," said the Steward. "A lesser man might see some symbolism here." He flipped through the pages. "No," he said, after a moment or two. "I misremembered."

"So we remain uninsulted?" said the King.

"As far as I'm aware."

"Which means we can eat now?"

The Steward threw the book onto the table. The vase went flying. Neither man lifted a finger as it fell to the floor and shattered. "Yes," said the Steward. "We can eat now."

* * *

 _Altariel, 24th August 2018_


End file.
